The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans | Page 8

great number of points on a system such as
this?"
"No; they are very few."
"And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were only so."
"What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?"

"An idea--an indication, no more. But the case certainly grows in
interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do not see any
indications of bleeding on the line."
"There were hardly any."
"But I understand that there was a considerable wound."
"The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury."
"And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it be possible
for me to inspect the train which contained the passenger who heard the
thud of a fall in the fog?"
"I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before now, and
the carriages redistributed."
"I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that every carriage has
been carefully examined. I saw to it myself."
It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was
impatient with less alert intelligences than his own.
"Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was not the
carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done all we can
here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. I think our
investigations must now carry us to Woolwich."
At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which he
handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:
See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out.
Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Baker Street, a
complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in
England, with full address.
Sherlock.
"That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took our seats in

the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for
having introduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable
case."
His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high- strung
energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive circumstance
had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See the foxhound with
hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about the kennels, and
compare it with the same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining
muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent--such was the change in
Holmes since the morning. He was a different man from the limp and
lounging figure in the mouse- coloured dressing-gown who had
prowled so restlessly only a few hours before round the fog-girt room.
"There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dull indeed not
to have understood its possibilities."
"Even now they are dark to me."
"The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may lead
us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the
ROOF of a carriage."
"On the roof!"
"Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a coincidence that it
is found at the very point where the train pitches and sways as it comes
round on the points? Is not that the place where an object upon the roof
might be expected to fall off? The points would affect no object inside
the train. Either the body fell from the roof, or a very curious
coincidence has occurred. But now consider the question of the blood.
Of course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body had bled
elsewhere. Each fact is suggestive in itself. Together they have a
cumulative force."
"And the ticket, too!" I cried.
"Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This would

explain it. Everything fits together."
"But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from unravelling the
mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not simpler but stranger."
"Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." He relapsed into a
silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up at last in
Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew Mycroft's paper
from his pocket.
"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said he. "I
think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention."
The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawns
stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog was lifting,
and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered
our ring.
"Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died this
morning."
"Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he die?"
"Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, Colonel
Valentine?"
"Yes, we had best do so."
We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant